Nothing
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy has a little lady problem and it triggers some feelings toward House.


**Sorry that after a week and a half hiatus all I have is this slightly undercooked fic. Everyone who has read it thinks that part 1 and part 2 don't go together. I think they do, albeit (very) tangentially. They're about Cuddy getting on House's case. And how she needs to realize that she never has any reason to be jealous of him. But mostly, okay, they're just two small fics I shoved together. LOL. Hope you enjoy. (I feel like Part 1 might be a little controversial!) -ATD**

I.

"Get off!"

House and Cuddy were lying in bed. He had just gone to kiss her when she had shoved him away.

"What did I do now?" he said, hurt.

"Nothing."

"Could've fooled me."

She looked at him. "It's not you. I have a yeast infection."

"Oh, is that all?" House said, grinning. "Because you have plenty of other ways to make me rise."

No reaction.

"Get it? _Rise_?" he said. "That was a yeast joke."

"Not funny."

"Sorry," he said. He went to kiss her neck but she pushed him away again.

"Jesus. What's your problem?"

"I'm just not feeling very sexy at the moment," she said.

"Awww, poor baby," he held his arms—a cue for her to curl up in them.

Instead, she inched away.

He scratched his chin.

"Are you sure this is just about your ladypart trouble?" he said.

She was quiet.

"Because come to think of it, you've been acting weird all day."

"It's nothing," she repeated.

"Female code for: It's something."

She turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

"If you must know, at first I didn't think this was a yeast infection. I thought maybe I had"—she lowered her voice—"chlamydia."

"You don't have to lower your voice," House chuckled. "Rachel is fast asleep. And I'm pretty sure _Mommy,_ _Why Do I Itch Down There?_ isn't on the nursery school curriculum."

Cuddy didn't laugh. When Cuddy didn't laugh at House's jokes, he knew he was screwed.

"Why on earth did you think you had chlamydia?" he pressed.

"Gee, House. I can't imagine why."

"You think _I_ gave it to you?"

"No, it must've been my other boyfriend who slept with a parade of whores."

House gave a slightly resigned sigh.

"So _that's_ what this is about," he said. "I was wondering when this was going to come up. I was hoping for _never_."

"It's not like I'm _constantly_ thinking of it," Cuddy said. "It's just that, the last time I had a yeast infection, I knew it was a yeast infection. You know why? Because I wasn't dating the Man-Whore of New Jersey."

"For starters, I'm not a Man-Whore. And secondly, we used condoms. Every time."

"Condoms break."

"I understand why you would think my dimensions are constantly busting out of condoms. . ."

"Not what I meant."

"But I assure you, the condoms never broke."

"If you say so."

"I do. I don't have any venereal diseases. I'm clean. And I've been tested. Are we done here?"

Cuddy sat up, hugged her knees, looked at him.

"What was it like with them?"

House rolled his eyes.

"You don't want to know."

"Actually I do."

This was not going to end well.

"What specifically do you want to know?"

"What was the sex like?"

"It was just a warm, wet place to put my dick," House said, bluntly.

"You're gross."

"Hey, you asked."

"Different from when we have sex?"

"_Really_ Cuddy? You have to ask that?"

"Just curious."

"That was fucking. What we do is making love."

"You're just saying that because you know it's what I want to hear."

"It also has the benefit of being true."

She paused, obviously not quite satisfied.

"Did you talk to them?" she said.

"As little as possible."

"Not even with Brandi?"—she was referring to the whore/masseuse who gave House happy endings. They had argued about Brandi a few months back.

"Actually Brandi and I often discussed string theory together."

Cuddy hit him on the arm, hard.

"Ow!" House said. "No, Brandi and I didn't talk either. I find these women are generally not sparkling conversationalists."

"I just can't imagine having an encounter with another human being that is so dehumanizing."  
House folded his arms.

"Have you gotten very close to your dry cleaner? Invited him for dinner? Exchanged recipes?"

"That's not the same thing," Cuddy said.

"It's the exact same thing. They have a job. Their job is to get men off. I was their customer. They want small talk about as much as I do."

"I don't have sex with my dry cleaner."

"You sure about that? I've seen the way he looks at you."

Cuddy paused for a minute.

"Do you miss it all?" she said.

"No," he said firmly. "Not in the least."

"Okay," she said.

"Cuddy, where is this coming from? You know how happy I am. I thought _we_ were happy."

"We are happy," she said.

"Then what's this all about?"

"I dunno. I guess sometimes I think too much."

He took her hand, kissed it.

"You and me both."  
#####

He didn't try to touch her the next night or the night after that, but three days later he turned to her in bed.

"Infection clearing up?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled, knowingly.

"Yes," she said. "But not open for business yet."  
"We could cuddle?" he said.

"And by cuddle, you mean, you hold me for a few minutes and then I give you a blow job."

"If our cuddling happens to end with my blow job, all the better. But I actually just meant cuddle." He blinked at her. "I miss you."

She snorted a bit, but folded herself into his arms. He sighed contentedly, smelled her hair.

"There she is," he said.

Then he pulled her closer, buried his face in her neck, and actually closed his eyes.

Fuck, Cuddy thought. He really could be so damn cute sometimes.

She gave him a light kiss on the mouth.

He kissed back, gently, smiling at her.

Then she gave him a deeper kiss, with tongue.

He kissed back—and they both felt that familiar stirring.

"Your lady parts?" he said, kissing her rather ravenously at this point.

She began to pull at his pajama bottoms.

"Looks like you're getting your happy ending after all."  
####

II.

Cuddy looked at her watch, smiled at Tom and Nancy Wheeler.

House was late—again.

"Have you heard from him?" Tom said.

"No, but I'm sure he's on his way."

"I'm going to start getting a complex," Nancy said.

The last time they were all supposed to have dinner, House had cancelled at the eleventh hour, claiming an emergency with his patient.

"You shouldn't," Cuddy lied. "House has been looking forward to this all week."

"Well, I for one can't wait to meet him," Nancy said. "I want to see the man who makes you glow like this."  
Cuddy blushed a bit, looked down at her menu.

Just then her cell phone buzzed with a text message. It was from House:

"Patient crashed. Have to beg out. Apologies to Tim and Nina."

Cuddy frowned.

"Bad news?" Tom said.

"It's House," she said. "Turns out he. . .can't make it after all."

"Oh no!" Nancy said.

Cuddy forced a smile.

"Oh well. More for us then! I hear the duck is fantastic."

#####

House got home that night at about 10:30.

Cuddy was sitting in her favorite chair, reading The New Yorker.

"Just when I thought it was impossible, my team sunk to new levels of incompetence today," House said.

He wandered into the kitchen, took a beer out of the fridge.

"How was dinner?" he asked.

"Fine," Cuddy said tersely.

"Sorry I had to cancel. Next time for sure."

"There won't be a next time," Cuddy said.

"Why not?"

"Because you not showing up the first time was bad enough. But two times? I'll never be able to look the Wheelers in the face again."

"Don't be melodramatic."

"You have no idea how humiliated I was."

"I'm sorry. I kind of thought saving the life of my patient was the top priority," House said. He popped the top of the beer and took a swig. "But if you want our social life to take precedent, I can certainly adjust."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that your patient was really dying tonight."

"My patients are always dying."

"Was it an emergency?"

He hesitated. "Define emergency."

"I knew it!"

He thought for a second.  
"Cuddy, face it, these dinners never go the way you imagine they're going to go. It's never a night of witty repartee and me being charming-boyfriend-guy. It almost always ends with someone crying—either you, one of your friends, or the waitress."

"That's just an excuse."

"That's the reality of dating me."

She looked at him, jutted out her chin a bit.

"Then be a man and tell me you don't want to go. Don't leave me sitting next to an empty chair with the glass of scotch I ordered for you sitting untouched."

House looked at the floor. She really knew how to lay on the guilt.

"I meant to come," he said. "But the case isn't solved and the team was staying late and I. . .I guess I let myself off the hook."

"You're good at that."

"I'm sorry, Cuddy. Really."

Cuddy just shook her head.

"I feel like I can't do anything right lately," House grumbled.

"Huh, I wonder why."

He slumped his shoulders. Opened the fridge again.

"I don't suppose you brought me home any leftovers?"

"Dream on."

He sorted dejectedly through the fridge: String cheese for Rachel, juice boxes, Greek yogurt, beer, eggs, a bag of carrots, a stalk of broccoli, and a bunch of grapes.

"Do we have anything meant for human consumption in this house?"

"Make yourself an omelette," Cuddy said, going back to her magazine.

He looked at her, pouting a bit.

"I'm going to Sullivan's for a burger," he said, thinking she might take pity on him and make him something.

"Knock yourself out," she said, not looking up.

#####

He ordered a scotch and a bacon cheeseburger and vaguely watched the game on the TV over the bar.

He felt depressed. He rubbed his leg.

"Haven't seen you here in a while," a female voice purred. He looked up. It was Amy, one of the nurses at the hospital. She was a barfly, like he used to be. Pretty enough. He couldn't swear to it, but he was pretty sure that after closing down Sullivan's one time, they had hooked up.

"I used to see you here all the time," she said, sitting down next to him. "Dr. Cuddy has you on a pretty short leash, huh?"

"We can't go out that often," House said, defensively. "She has a kid."

"Also, a complete lack of spontaneity," Amy snorted.

House didn't reply.

"I can't imagine living with her. She scares the shit out of me. She must be a real ball breaker," Amy said.

"You have no idea," House said, polishing off his scotch. He ordered another one.

"I remember when you used to be fun," she said, giggling.

"Hey! I still am fun," he said, looking at her.

"Prove it."  
#####

The phone rang at 11:15. Could House be drunk already? Calling to get picked up? No, it was too early. She looked at the number. It was her friend Carla, the director of development at the hospital.

"I'm sorry if I woke up Rachel," Carla said.

"No, she's not even here. Mom's watching her." Then Cuddy chuckled ruefully. "I thought I was having a romantic night with House."

"I can say with some certainty that is not the case," Carla said.

"How would you know?"

"Because I'm at Sullivan's and I'm looking at House right now."

"Oh. . ." Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"And guess who he's with?"

"If it was Wilson I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be calling me."

"Nurse Amy."

"_Easy_ Amy?"

"The very one. She's kind of draped all over him."

"And what's he doing?" Cuddy said, feeling her face get red.

"He's not touching her. But she's definitely got his attention."

She grit her teeth. "That little piece of—."  
"I didn't know if I should call. But I figured if it was my man I'd want to know."  
"No," Cuddy said. "You did the right thing."  
#####

About 30 minutes later, Amy and House were both well into their fifth drink.

"This may seem bold but. . ." Amy said.

"Fortune favors the bold," House slurred, with a grin.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

She seductively bit on a cocktail straw.

House squinted at her. He was quite drunk: There were two of her.

"And go where?" he said.

"My place, you idiot." And she put her arms around his neck.

He removed them, somewhat forcibly.

"What part of 'I'm with Cuddy' don't you understand?" he said.

"Don't get so defensive," she said. "You just looked like a man who could use some comforting."

"I could use some comforting," House said. "From my _girlfriend_."

"Good thing she's here to comfort you then," a female voice said.

Both House and Amy looked up.

"Dr. Cuddy!" Amy said, mortified.

"Cuddy!" House said, cheerfully. (He was too drunk to realize that he had been caught in what could possibly be interpreted as a compromising position.)

"I . . .uh. . we were just. . .uh. . ." Amy started.

"Don't you have the morning shift tomorrow?" Cuddy said to Amy, her arms folded.

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy."

"Then maybe you should think about going home now—_alone_."

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy."

And Amy got up, slapped some money on the bar, and left so quickly she left her scarf behind.

Cuddy sat down in her stool.

"She's a delight," she said dryly.

House shrugged.

Then he rested his chin in his hand and looked at her dreamily.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said back.

She kissed him on the lips, ruffled his hair a bit.

"You still mad at me?" he asked.

"Not so much."

"Good."

"You still mad at me?"

"I'm never mad at you."

Cuddy thought about that for a second. It was true. When they fought, it was always because of some offense—real or imaginary—on his part. She had to stop nagging him so much. He was loyal as a Labrador.

"Wanna get out of here?" she said. Then she added with a mischievous smile. "Rachel's at my mom's. And you know what that means."

His eyes widened.

"We can do it in that one place where we did it that one time?"

"I don't see why not," she said.

"And your little. . . problem is all cleared up?"

"Cleared up and eager to get back in the game."

"I love my life," House said.

And they paid the bill and left.


End file.
